The Last Dragonborn
by QueenMelanthe
Summary: Power can no longer be balanced. Asgardians and other races of the light cannot extinguish such chaos no more. Only one is powerful enough to destroy this foe before it consumes the universe in darkness. She is a victim, a survivor, a friend, a lover, an enemy, a warrior. Great power courses through her very veins, but will it consume her the more mighty she becomes? Thor AU.
1. Chapter One: The Unrooting

Yggdrasil has changed. The ebony branches have thickened and extended its influence. The sparkling leaves have withered and blossomed; mysteries became rare and common. Magick has appeared and disappeared like cheap modern acts. All elements of the universe have risen and fell in the span of grueling eons. Empires have consumed and crumbled, wars won and defeated. It all began with the birth of the Nine Realms.

The first three were those worthy of kings. Wise and mighty beings ruled from great golden thrones and wore the name of gods like simple accessories. The next set was mundane, a grey slice of reality bequeathed to those _inferior_. Their magick was weak, their wills able to bend like hot metal, but the most fascinating feature was their endurance. The remaining realms were the eldest of them all but the most dangerous. Inhospitable lands gave birth to vicious beings with cruel bodies. Corruption flowed in the veins of both the natives and the realms itself. Darkness lurked every corner and crack, hungering for innocent prey.

Within each of the Nine Realms was the unique power to tend to the Great Ash Tree: precious metals from Nidavellir and the unhonored souls hailing from Niflheim kept Yggdrasil healthy along with seven separate nutrients. But the universe did not know its prized creations will shake it roots violently for future millenia.

Space was the battleground as time recorded each event. The Asgardians, natives of Asgard, especially cashed blades with their disgraceful foes of Jotunheim, the Jotun. To win the wars was to claim Midgard, home to gullible mortals idiotic enough to worship others as deities, but it was nearly impossible for each realm to claim it against the others...alone. Asgardians, Vanir, and Elves of the Light stood as brethren on blood-soaked earth. Their golden armor radiated hope for mortals and dwarves, the two races who dared not to fight. The undead of Niflheim saw no point, being spirits with no vessels. The three bands of warriors became known as the Divines, the Gods of Yggdrasil.

Jotuns, their fiery cousins, the Muspel, and Elves of the Void gnashed their demonic fangs, howling like feral beasts. Barbaric armor marched onward and heavy boots stomped fear into the soil. These so-called Monsters became symbols of death and destruction. What the Gods did not know is that they have weapons that would solidify their reputation.

The Jotun and Muspels descended from _real_ monsters, able to transform into their ancient ancestors. Scales, claws, pointed horns and terrifying teeth ruled their realms. Jotuns breathed flesh-piercing frost as Muspels blew out bone-shattering flames. Scarlets and blues dominated the skies for centuries. Midgard belonged to the Monsters without a doubt. Unknowing to these dreadful creatures, a great betrayal killed them.

The Gods triumphed as the great fires of Muspelheim ceased to burn. The winged beasts and frightening foot soldiers died with their realm for the flames of their home scorched in their hearts. The Dark Elves surrendered without another bloodbath. The natives of Jotunheim continued to battle not only for themselves but for their fiery kin. The Gods were too much for them, forcing them to retreat into the icy depths from once they came.

For thousands of years since, Yggdrasil has been sturdy; everything's peaceful within the walls of the universe. The Jotuns have disappeared, the Dark Elves cower, and the Muspels are dead. With their demise, ancient knowledge of both Jotun and Muspel ancestry has been buried with them. No flying atrocities shall burn or freeze innocents once more. Those beasts were dead. This guaranteed the security the Gods and mortals have in their lifetimes. No fires have roared nor blizzards have rampaged the Nine Realms. Until now.

* * *

Gladsheim Palace, Asgard

"You do not understand, Brynhildr!"

The God-King of Asgard's gruff voice was controlled by fear, letting his frame slouch over his grand desk. So many signs of apocalypse filled his ancient mind like ale filling up a mug. Out of all of them, only one screamed Ragnarok.

"You think I do not understand, but you are far from being correct, Odin."

A fierce woman proudly stood before her king. She was broad and muscular, the hard look on her face telling the story of a warrior. Long chestnut locks were braided, pinned up in a wrapped circle on her scalp. Loose fabric painted her body, revealing honorable markings drawn onto her backside. Brynhildr was a most valiant fighter, indicated by the angelic wings beautifully etched into her flesh. She was like an amazon, but Norse. Brynhildr's a valkyrie.

"I am an ancient warrior, though, you are of the past compared to me. That does not hinder me from knowing the horrors of reality."

Odin All-Father gazed up to his old friend. Normally, he'd smile to ease her soul, but this was not matter to seem happy about. The god stared at the woman like an old man staring down to a child.

"I dare not challenge your skills with the blade, being the Supreme and all, but you do _not_ know what true horror is. You are blessed you were born into a new age after the wars."

The All-Father pressed his fingers against his temples. There was so much panic spreading like plague in all the realms. Except for Jotunheim. That added more stress to the old man's head.

"My warriors and I will fight this threat, I swear to you-"

"This is something the Order cannot fight, dear Brynhildr." Odin nearly barked.

Silence reigned in the king's great study. His words were a slap to Brynhildr. To insult her command, her warriors, was very unwise. To belittle a valkyrie was an oral death sentence. The woman could never bear the death of her king be it on her conscience, but she could finally see where his eldest got his attitude.

"My girls are the most mighty warriors in Yggdrasil. Every god was trained by a valkyrie: you, your sons, everybody." Brynhildr bent down, hissing into her old friend's ear. "To say we are weak is saying all in Asgard are weak."

"I am not saying the Valkyri are weak!" The old man jumped to his feet.

"We can fight anything! Do you not see that?" It was rare that Brynhildr would raise her voice at her master, but she needed to get through to him.

"You cannot fight _this_!" Odin placed his large hands on the woman's broad shoulders.

With each word, the god gently shook the valkyrie.

_So stubborn! So persistent!_

The woman's jaw hardened the more Odin's words settled in her blood...but he spoke of the truth. With drastic happenings in Jotunheim and Muspelheim, added with fear in the other seven realms, something colossal and powerful was conjuring a storm. Times have indeed changed.

"Liquid fires have once again raged under the rock. If they have truly returned..."

"We have to do something." Brynhildr never buried her fighting spirit. "The Jotun will want to guide their kin in this new age. We cannot allow them to set foot on Muspelheim."

Odin nodded in agreement but his voice said otherwise.

"We must observe for now. I will not start a war _now_ by sending valkyries into enemy territory. For safety measures, every being in the Great Ash Tree must return to their home realms and stay until this matter is dealt with."

Brynhildr's lackluster eyes widened. Nothing ever grabbed her attention. War and fighting grew tiring after centuries of following the same routine. But this...this was different.

"You mean...?" The valkyrie was reduced to whispers.

"Your daughter will return to Asgard. Valkyrja help us all."

To swear on the name of the original valkyrie, the First Supreme, was very grim indeed. The God-King and the current Supreme Valkyrie would now pray daily. The past was still fresh, as if all the troubles happened yesterday.

"I have missed her so much." Brynhildr's eyes squeezed shut. " I just hope the events before these troubled times do not repeat themselves."

"Do not grow nostalgic, my lady." The All-Father grew cautious. "She'll be here on official duties under her current occupation."

The god strode over to an expansive shelf mountainous compared to him. Nine boxes slid off the golden wood, gracefully falling to Odin's eye.

"I want these delivered to every king and queen in the universe. The last set of three will be given to special beings worthy of my time." The All-Father commanded.

Brynhildr's eyes snapped open once more, bewildered.

"You mean to summon the Yggdrasil Council? But that would mean-"

"Welcoming the Jotun bitch and the Dark Elves into my bloody halls; yes, I'm well aware yet the situation demands it."

Odin was becoming weary on the topic; he rubbed his temples. What were his sons doing? Thor ought to be practicing his blade. Loki, well, he studies and dabbles with magick. Not the typical warrior god. Not the typical god, anyway. Frigga must be aiding their son by searching for texts in the royal library. The King and Queen clearly established favorites though they try not to.

"You mean your youngest's _true_ mother and her allies, your Majesty." The Supreme heaved a terrible sigh.

"She's not Laufey; she cooperates. That's always a victory but-"

"Farbauti's still a Jotun, just like Loki. What would he think of you speaking in such ways?"

Brynhildr and Odin were now tied in such discomfort. Their tongues were loosening their restraints the more brilliant rays radiated Odin's gilded palace. Clanging metal echoed in the God-King's elder ears. Footsteps and chatter of his horde of nobles were muffled on the other end of the study.

"Such matters are tearing into my soul. You must realize, Brynhildr, that this is the greatest threat to ever come upon the second age; the _only_ one, in fact!"

The Supreme Valkyrie clung to her master's words. She understood his fear and his anger more than the King thought. Brynhildr squeezed Odin's thick shoulder, smiling with such regret.

"Everything will be balanced-oh! My Lord Prince!"

The warrioress collected her hand, stumbling back from the god's father. His broad frame was cloaked in consuming darkness and eye-popping earth that hid his physical strength. Long strands of an abyss flowed from his scalp; the only thing Asgardian about this man was the gold he adorned himself with. Large orbs of emerald stared into the judging souls of the Supreme and All-Father like they always did with those who were _normal_. Sorrow.

Loki, who had recently embraced his true name as the Son of Laufey, gazed at the man whom he once called Father. Every sign in the past made his gut scream the truth, but he refused to believe it. Not until Jotunheim.

"Here." The mischievous god's voice was gravely low.

Loki extended one limb before Odin, fists clenched tight. Rotating the angles, thin fingers guarded a valuable of his. He had never taken up the forge before. The Jotun crafted this specific piece for _her _and solely for _her_. A Norse Valknut appeared in Loki's bloodless palms. Three triangles were woven as one, the nine points representing the Nine Realms, but something was very strange about this amulet.

"You know what to do with it."

"Loki, did you hear-"

The trickster was already past the golden doors before Odin could fully speak. The All-Father looked down to his own hand, now the home of Loki's valknut. He sensed the most powerful of all magick radiating from the amulet like no other he has held. It was truly...beautiful.

"Every king and queen of Yggdrasil will receive those chests. The other two will be given special instruction."

"And the last one?"

Uneasy air occupied the space between the Supreme Valkyrie and the God-King of Asgard.

"Take the current amulet out; replace it with this one." Odin gave Brynhildr the valknut, completely done with the world for the moment. He, like his son before, left the golden study with no words.

* * *

**Heyo, fanboys and fangirls! :D This is my second fanfiction and I just hope you all enjoy my little AU of the Thor movie-verse with a dash of actual Norse mythology. Although it would be totally amazing, I sadly own nothing but my plot and my OCs; the real credit goes to Marvel and the Prose and the Poetic Eddas! I'm all about reviews, so please, if you really enjoy my fanfiction or think I need to improve on my writing skill, please please PLEASE tell me so! This fanfiction will really develop if I'm a fabulous writer, in which YOU get to judge my art. Without further ado, enjoy! **


	2. Chapter Two: The Voodoo Queen

**Hey there, lovlies. Been what, only an hour since I posted Chapter One? Please, fanfiction waits for no one, not even precious sleep! Again, reviews are very much appreciated and I own nothing except for my OCs and plot. This is mainly an AU with elements from the films, since I have pathetically not read the comics. Enjoy! **

* * *

Misha LaCroix was sick of the whining and the begging. Many would grovel at her toes for favors, blessings, curses; it was all the same. Mortals grew more pathetic the greater their desires intensified for something silly. Misha, unfortunately, is one of many pathetic beings, but she has honor.

"Please, my lady." A meaty man pressed his hands together in prayer. "I will do anything for this."

The man's thick skin was dotted with Misha's artwork: infected boils that oozed sickly liquid. She felt his soul in agony, but like all mortals, he was defiant to the idea of defeat. The man survived her previous trials as many do not. Even more astonishing, he remained on his knees before Misha's terrifying throne. The dark one's stomach grumbled ravenously for answers.

"Will you cut out your tongue for this? Will you resort to sacrificing your grandchildren in their cozy beds?" This queen of the darkcraft questioned her current subject, voice as smooth as silk.

"If you command..." The man darkly replied.

This made Misha more empowered. Chuckles vibrated her throat while shaking her braided scalp. The woman's body squirmed against the bones that built her grand seat and reputation. Other ingredients were tied to them, all harsh to gaze at to outsiders. This made Misha more feared in her world.

_What does Fjora call Earth?_ She pondered. _Ah, yes!_

"Midgard..."

"I know you're a dame of the devil, but I'll do anything to bring my dear Tessa back." The boil-covered man continued to plead.

Misha looked down to this waste-of-air. She no longer humored herself with her dominance. Anger bubbled underneath her dark flesh.

"I'm almost positive they don't have a Wikipedia page on me, but someone with half a brain knows _not_ to say that in my territory." Misha hissed, leaning forward like the snake she is. "I worship no one; people bow to _me_."

The man could see her wrathful eyes turn pitch black. To evoke the evil of Misha LaCroix was _very_ unwise.

"My lady, please. I have over twenty thousand in the car, just please-" He tried to coax the woman.

"You done messed with the wrong witch."' The woman's displeasure amplified into a nasty snarl. "Get out while you still got a breath of life."

Money was nothing to Misha; conjuring currency was simple, even for one of darkness. Honor and reputation was a whole different story. Worshiping the evil one in the Abrahams would kill the witch's power. Her nimble fingers cracked in the dank air. Two brutes immediately stomped into Misha's arcane chamber, their muscles tensing with every little move.

"Escort this undesirable out."

The two strongmen never hesitated to defy their mistress' order. Their meaty hands wrapped around the patron's thick arms and heaved him up without a harsh breath.

"Please, my lady, **please**!"

Misha was done hearing his _sophisticated_ Southern accent. She certainly had better things to do: curse a spurned lover, hex a rotten woman, destroy a family of egotistical pricks. The woman was far too busy to deal with one measly fool. The man, though, lived in a time of new technology. Misha clung to the past of her ancestors which would bring her down. Her victim jumped away from the witch's men. He balanced on his expensive loafers, drawing a metal weapon.

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

Both bodyguards dropped like flies. The smoking barrel now stared into the eyes of Misha LaCroix, aching to just take another.

"Now you listen to me, bitch." Every move broke the delicate boils. "You're gonna bring my wife back or I'll blow your brains out."

_Clearly passionate...clearly hesitant...clearly gullible..._

Misha's expression of boredom was frozen on her tight cheeks. Boldly, she arose from her throne.

"I swear to God, I'll do it!" The pistol shook and the man cowardly backed up.

The witch took a proud step closer to her _customer_, looking him dead in the eye.

"Follow me."

* * *

The air was soggy from the ocean breezes. Even in the moonlit hours, a ball raging with unimaginable anger was still so furious. It never forgets and it never forgives, quite like the woman of the darkcraft. There was no such things as cool nights in the swampy bayous, only giant mutated lizards and bloodsucking insects dwell in the land. Mist puffed up with each step the pair drove their soles into the earth. Hot mud squished underneath and revealed itself onto the wanderers' feet.

"Goddamn swamp!" The boil-covered man cried into the humid abyss.

"You care more about you wife or those fancy skins you call loafers?" Misha let her annoyance flow like the Louisiana streams.

"A woman shouldn't talk back to a man, especially a negress to a white man." Her victim shoved the cold barrel against the witch's back.

Misha's caramel cheeks rotted into spoiled fruit, not because she feared a man with a silly gun. Frankly, this _superior _white man humored her.

"Tessa's just up ahead."

"Buried in a swamp? Places like this harbors dark and terrible secrets, Mister." Misha sensed the sinister truth beneath his infected fat. He could pick up on her obvious suspicion rooted in her deep voice.

"I aint taking shit from a black woman." The pistol cocked. "Do as I say or I'll dump your body into the swamp. Can we come to an agreement, devil-worshiper?"

Anger cooked in Misha's corrupted heart. There it was again. The only thing that will set her off. She was thinking of just cursing this fool after the ordeal, but the witch was done with this nonsense.

"Your god has no power in the darkcraft. Your beloved man of Nazareth rose from the dead in miracle, not by true power I possess. I suggest you shut _your_ mouth." The woman was far too cunning to be noticed. Her plan will work out smoothly unless this imbecile offs her. Then again, he's a filthy liar.

"You goddamn-!"

"Your precious wife can rot with the others under our toes if I join them tonight" Misha's pulse never intensified nor diminished. This was child's play compared to past situations, like the one time a crazy bit off the witch's ear. Luckily, it grew back.

Miniscule creatures sang the melodies of their people. Murky water sloshed against the banks reflecting the silver light of Earth's pale child."

"Bring her back." Broken boils gleamed with the waters, a growl escaping the afflicted's lips.

Misha and her client gathered around an odd heap; more like dung than soil, more makeshift than honorable. This was a watery grave for one who was useless, not loved. No proper burial would be carried out in a forsaken swamp. The necromancer knew exactly what had occurred before this moment.

"What was her bane?" Misha's feminine yet baritone voice rumbled her muscles.

"What's it to you?" Her victim, true to his human nature, fought back.

The witch's windows into oblivion set fire into the man's corrupt soul ablaze.

"Tessa passed from a heart attack; born and raised in the swamps, wanting to be put to rest at her home. That's why it looks-"

"Misshapen and rushed?" Misha took the words right out of his mouth. "Mud is certainly a harsh mistress."

_Wretched deceiver..._

"I didn't kill her if that's what you're thinking."

_Obviously gifted in the slanderous tongue..._

"Of course not. Why would a man such as yourself kill his loving wife of ten days?" Shrewdness and suspicion clashed in the woman's voice.

The boils on the man's skin were no longer bursting, now accustomed with movement. Blood rushing beneath his flesh went cold the more the witch's words were absorbed.

"A trophy wife that mysteriously died after her marriage with a man who had three former wives, but don't worry, Mister, I _believe_ you." Misha toyed with her client. A spider teasing her prey. "Do you have the ingredients I asked in advance?"

The stunned victim reached inside his pure coat. Glass softly tapped against each other when sausage fingers smudged the surface. Misha was presented two vials of very different substances.

"One with mistletoe mixed with ivy and the other-"

"Blood of the deceased."

The dark woman snatched the blooded vial, consuming its contents immediately. The ritual had now begun.

"Blood of the deceased melding with Blood of power will awaken the woman from a terrible slumber! Ivy and mistletoe, both earthen children of immortality and eternal life, will strengthen her binding to her vessel!"

Misha uncorked the second vial, consuming it without a second to spare.

"I call upon three creatures-Sacrifice! Vengeance! Rebirth!-to aid my magicks!"

"Goddamn witches..." The man grumbled.

"Sacrifice to trade souls! Vengeance to crush the deceased's bane! Rebirth to make mortal once more!"

Misha could see her client grow uneasy. She smiled.

A lowly goat trotted through the unstable environment. The animal was released from the moss and the mud, only to stand above this so-called Tessa's grave. It waited.

"The hell? Where'd that-!"

"Shut your mouth, white man." The witch's voice contained more than her own.

The animal waited over a hidden corpse frozen like a statue. It just stood there like it was freewill. This was the sacrifice, the _scrape_goat.

"Come, Rebirth! Take Sacrifice so you may reign!"

From the murky waters, a monstrous beast slid onto the banks. It crawled on its stubby limbs and its giant mouth split open, snapping on the goat's little frame. The sacrifice yelped and cried for help as the scaly catalyst tore into the flesh like a mad dog. This was the bringer of life, a terrifying alligator. Two beings of man watched: one in horror, the other in victory.

"Jesus!" Misha's boil-covered client grew distraught. Was all this necessary to bring back Tessa?

The gator feasted on that remained of the little animal. Belly full of flesh and bone, the harbinger became the _next_ sacrifice but with significance. Rebirth rolled onto its scaly back poky with armor above the grave. Mud squished underneath and the gator began to sink under; the woman of the darkcraft took control of the ritual.

"Blood of Sacrifice! Blood of Rebirth! Blood of the Mundane! Blood of Magick! All four are to be joined as one to regenerate and guide lost souls!"

"_Souls?!_" The Southern Gentleman howled.

Misha stole one last look before she continued.

"Unnatural deaths breaks a soul in shards." The witch assured her client.

_What a simpleton..._

The gator waited for his mistress still gradually sinking into the grave. Misha hovered over this swampy beast clutching a ceremonial blade.

"With this blade, I slay!" The woman folded her frame, dragging the metal through thick flesh.

Gore clouded in darkness spilled from the wounds. The sanguine fluids began to flow down the scaled belly of a suffering beast. Misha extended her arm, the sullied blade lingering over.

"With this blade, I slay!" Sharp metal sliced down to the bone adding more to this dark concoction.

The second sacrifice of four bloods spiraled back to its natural state, letting the blood violently cascaded from its flesh. The gator mixed the fluids into the mud with its dwarf limbs until all the life had drained. Before one final breath was released, the beast dug its claws into solid earth and dragged itself off the grave. Rebirth had vanished in spirit.

"Rise," Misha's lips parted in whispers, "reclaim your life, Tessa of the new Orleans."

The deceased's widower shivered with anticipation.

_Will she be the same? Will she tell?_

"Oh, but she has already told the story of her greatest blight." The witch groaned. She took careful steps back , eyebrows arched armed with a wicked grin. "_You_."

The client stared back with fear. This devil-worshiper tricked him! He waved the pistol in Misha's path, but it was already too late.

"Vengeance! Guide the undead!"

Mud sloshed. Soil broke. Cracking of the surface took its place in this realm. Decaying limbs shot through and skulls emerged from their graves. So many buried here have passed from cruel deaths; now they had the chance to gain peace from the man exactly like their own _murderers_.

"Oh Lord, have mercy on me!" The fat man cried out, pointing his weapon between the eyes of his foes.

_Pop!_

_Pop!_

_Pop!_

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Horde of the walking dead groaned with new life.

"You...you nigger bit-ARRRGGGHHHH!" The man howled in the moonlight. Decaying bones carved openings into his infected flesh. In their palms, the undead cupped grotesque masses of organs and gore just aching to be devoured.

"**Stop**!"

The zombies gave Misha's client space to collect himself, although, much of his person was no more. Chunks of ill flesh were torn, as well as his dominant limb.

"You tricked me! You-you-you-!"

"Because you are one who deserves torture and damnation! Especially after what you did to your lovely wife!" Dark and sinister as she was, the witch valued honor above most things. She preferred justice but in her own sadistic way. "Insurance payments are truly poisoning your pathetic minds, killing for so much money. But you, being the idiot you are, dumped her body here and is now a wanted criminal!"

"SHUT! UP!"

_Pop!_

The pistol cracked once last time in the swamplands, ending its reign of so-called terror. Misha was unimpressed; the hot bullet went past her ageless cheeks.

"If you're going to kill me, at least aim correctly." Amused yet bored of such nonsense, the witch advised her dying customer.

He clearly was going to take her advice, but the weapon only clicked. His orbs widened with horror.

"T-tessa?" The man's voice barely one at all.

One of the undead hobbled forward with her brand being recited. She was once a young beauty, now a monstrosity who was a sore to the eyes. Such corruption filled her stunted bones.

"I wasn't lying about the soul shards. When my horde's done with you, there's gonna be so many soul shards not even the Gods can bring you back!"

The reanimated trophy wife, a woman once named Tessa from New Orleans, stumbled forth to the aged villain she trusted in life. Awkwardly, her bony knees pierced the solid earth next to her husband. With her dead eyes she looked him deep to his rotten soul.

"S-sat-tanic Vood-d-doo Quee-e-e-n..."

"Rot in hell, you bastard." Misha hissed.

Tessa lunged like a shark and her teeth sunk into her widower's skin. His horrific screams echoed in the night as more of the undead gathered to feast. Misha looked upon this grueling sight one last time. She was reminded of the wretchedness her defiled kin possessed, the great plague they've spread all over their world. Misha pondered over her own flaws; she was brutal, merciless, unforgiving and never forgetting. The colored witch was parallel to cosmic monsters, the ones that were far worse than these _Midgardians_. She couldn't possibly believe another species were far worse than her own but her friends assured her their council was true. Even the kindest and wisest of everything turned out to be the greatest monsters; the Asgardians seem to be the worse, though they are Gods. Yet Fjora speaks no false tongue like one god.

"Hmm?"

Misha LaCroix glanced down to see a snake slithering up her long leg. It was extensive and slim, sliding smoothly across her perfect flesh. The moonlight revealed the intense green and abyss-like black coating its scales. The serpent perched itself on Misha's shoulder, looking her dead in the eye.

"You are no swamp child. You have strange magicks painting your soul."

The witch looked back to the horde of zombies still feasting on her latest victim. Thunder clapped in the darkened skies, a chilling breeze rushing in the lands.

"Welcome to Midgard, Silvertongue God." Misha realized what type of magick polluted the serpent. "I was just thinking about you."

Branches of pale power flashed in the clouded realm. The thick trees blocked most of the great light, but Misha felt the intense bright magicks given off with each crack. The steady breeze morphed into winds.

"And I see you've brought an ally."

_Nnnnnnnot ex-ssssssssactly,_ the snake hissed.

The flashes grew brighter the more they neared Misha. The two were clearly here for something...or someone.

"Fjora's not here. I don't care what your father's orders were."

_He'sssssssssssss nnnnnnnnnot my ffffffatherrrrr..._

Lightning struck the earth before Misha's chocolate eyes. Her undead fried and sizzled like southern-styled chicken, cooked to a morbid crisp. More energy filled the woman's heart. It radiated honor and order, ruling beside fear and condemnation.

Misha, along with the serpent wrapped around her arm, gazed down to her victim's body. Boiled skin and exposed insides were cooked until every bit was charred, but something was different. In the dead man's belly, a gold beacon expelled beautiful lights. They wanted something, _he _wanted something.

Misha retrieved a completely purified box, pondering over its contents. The lid creaked open and more light was emitted.

"Oh dear God, not this..."


	3. Chapter Three: The Dwarf Jotun

**Heyo lovlies! :D Chapter 3's up(obviously) and it follows the story of my second OC(I'll have three in total!) I'm excited for you to meet her because well...you'll find out! xD Enjoy!**

* * *

"No! No, please! I'm begging you!" Howls of a Jotun sang in chains.

Brethren of the icy soul dragged her body coarsely against the rocks; flakes danced to the realm below. Jotunheim was a place where the land and people are the one of the same, their nature filled with jagged stone and an eternal winter.

"I swear, I'll give you twice as much coin I owe you! Just please-!"

"Shut up!" One of the blue brutes rose his massive palm, striking the defenseless woman.

The apex of all the highest peaks were by far the most tranquil in the realm. Bitter stone and snow were inevitable, but it was a scene rather than a storm. All of the Jotun, including the prisoner, adapted to such calm conditions. Their oceanic flesh softened in tone; their sparkling ruby eyes lacked the bright hues it once possessed. Cruel bodies remained parallel to a titan and their markings remained. Textured lines and dots were now noticeable from a great distance. The traumas the prisoner endured also shone in the spotlight.

Whispers left the lips of her kin but the poor woman could not twist her body. Frosted chains made her submissive to these fiends.

"Please! I have the coin! Take it! Take everything worth any value!" She begged for mercy.

These brutes waited for orders as whispers caressed their ears. The voice was so calm and soothing, it couldn't be a Jotun commanding others. The prisoner heard the satisfaction in their breath. One of her kind abused her once more, until the poor woman saw only oblivion.

* * *

Horses birthed from the rocks trotted on disheveled pathways. Creaking wood of a splinting carriage spiraled up a misty mountain. A terrible pressure made a nest in the prisoner's skull; her body slid and jumped as this journey extended itself. The chilling winds never pricked her deep sky flesh, but the defenseless woman felt the jabs of wood sink into her cheeks.

"Finally awake are we?" A deep voice broke the constant rattle of rock and chains.

Eyes barely open, she focused on a figure before her person. This was no common Jotun. He was adorned with silver armor, designs jagged and animal pelts surrounding his frame. This must be a queensguard.

"Funny...a warrior of the queen was bested by these criminals..." The woman murmured.

She swore she heard a chuckle gurgle in his throat.

"By what is your personal title?"

"Nixia. You?"

"Leidi. Such a pretty name for a woman in debt." The queensguard smirked.

"Such a girly name for a knight." The prisoner shot back.

The Jotuns were silent for most of the ride. Only the calls of the criminals and the caravans could be heard. Nixia twisted her frame and looked upon the scenery. Clouds formed under her scarlet orbs. Sunlight actually warmed her cheeks. The woman felt sick with such warmth.

"Why are you here, Leidi, warrior of Queen Farbauti?" Nixia wanted to forget the warmth growing in her gut.

"Got a lead. With this information, the queensguard can finally infiltrate Jotunheim's underworld and pacify these rebels." Leidi never hesitated in his answer. "Of course, I got caught..."

"Damn you, queensguard; everything was nice and lazy until you came along. If you haven't intervened, us innocents wouldn't be imprisoned!" Another prisoner growled. Unlike Leidi and Nixia, he covered himself with rags. His aged face was wrinkled in disgust, blooded orbs fixated on the woman.

"You and me shouldn't be here. We were wrongly torn from our lives and dragged into a secret war."

"I must admit, I allied myself with these rebels." Nixia was quick to respond. "It's my fault solely, not the queensguard's. Know who you're speaking for."

"Most honorable words indeed." Leidi piped up.

"Shut up back there!" One rebel hollered back to his captives.

The loud-mouth prisoner defied the terrifying Jotun.

"If only Laufey still reigned...Now that bitch queen's making our home into a fragile dollhouse for little girls. She's worthless, I tell you. She squeezed out a disfigured son and stillborn children after. What does that tell you about the woman?"

Nixia could see the annoyance on the queensguard's face. His bound hands clenched into massive fists.

"There's a difference between disfigurement and our race's dwarfism. And the queen's trying to turn our heathen land into a united realm. She only wants what's best for Jotunheim."

"D'oh! She wants to turn a terrifying realm into a cock-sucking weakling? Ah yes, because that's the best for us." The prisoner attacked Leidi with insults.

"There are troubled times ahead." Nixia defended the man. "Farbauti's wishes to gain worthy allies before war strikes."

The prisoner looked at the woman like she was mad.

"Lies..." He hissed.

"I feel dark changes in the universe. Chaos has always been with us but true battles will be our future no matter what we do."

The three were silent. The mood dampened as the skies heated. Rock-monster horses pounded stone earth and grew in legions. One stallion marched next to the carriage, a rider bizarre compared to others.

"She's right you know." The rider was collected and friendly. "Something bad's going to happen and Farbauti's truly trying to gain allies by changing Jotunheim. With her _revolutionary_ ideas and changes, we're just taking advantage of everything seeing that its weak."

That voice...it was so familiar to Nixia. This was no Jotun. Something far more pure was orchestrating sinister deeds.

"That was..."

"The rebellion's leader." Leidi spat.

"We're all gonna have some fun now. Oh and filthy peasant, having Asgardians or any other God Alliance members as allies does not make one a cock-sucking weakling. Traditionally, they're Jotunheim's enemies, but I've never been one for tradition." The rebellious woman smiled kindly. "I'll start with you: fill your mouth with shit and cut off your little pecker since you gave me the idea."

The leader rode away gracefully, leaving her three prisoners dumbfounded. The nameless one was by far the most traumatized.

"Wh-wha-what's going on?!" He began to howl in fear. "Why are we stopping?!"

The carriages began to halt. If this was the rebellion and they've taken them to a remote location, Nixia could only guess what's next.

"Face your death with some dignity, peasant."

"Leidi, member of the Queensguard-Death by stake.

Eld, captured civilian-_Special_ death.

Nixia, borrower who missed payments- Death by stake." A Jotun woman ended the grand list with the three that caught Silvija Hammer-Frost's eye. Her stallion passed their carriage and the leader dropped in on a very interesting conversation. She very much enjoyed the peasant Eld's face when she included herself in.

"Alright, you all know what to do!" Silvija screamed into the winds. The rebels went to work.

"No! No, please!" Eld cried in mercy. "I won't die like this!"

The prisoner sprinted across the crunchy snow. Silvija didn't even flinch.

"Tis a coward's death specifically for you!" She called out to the Jotun. None of her own tried to recapture the prisoner. Their mistress dealt with these rebels of the rebellion _alone_.

"Fine. Die a simple death for all I care!"

The Rebellion's leader spread all four limbs evenly. Her arms slowly went down and came back up graceful as an icy jellyfish. Her fingers were spread and curved, holding onto something. Frozen spikes formed from the snow beneath Silvija's toes and hovered around her person. Eld continued to run for his life, but he was no match against this strange woman. She barely moved from her position, only a step forward. Whirling her arms in a wheel, she shot out one limb, everything perfectly aligned like Yggdrasil's stars. The only thing Silvija could compare her spikes to were Midgardian bullets. They launched as if being fired from a metal barrel, flying speedily to Eld. The points went straight through the fleeing male. The warmth within him destroyed such weapons but Silvija's power is proven through countless witnesses. Eld dropped to the scarlet-stained snow.

"Anyone else?" The woman turned to her followers and prisoners. Her arch brow straightened, satisfied with the silence. "Back to work, my lovelies!"

The sun rose high over the grand peak. It warmed and afflicted all the Jotun except for Silvija. She was used to it; she can adapt to such changes.

"My dear queenie and woman peasant, you are both condemned to burn. I'm perfectly open with last words and even different sentences." Hammer-Frost spoke without a care in the world. "Enlighten me."

Nothing escaped Nixia's lips. Leidi, on the other hand, was more than happy to speak his mind.

"Death to the rebels. Farbauti will crush you." The queensguard declared. "I solemnly swear that will be your fate."

"I quite like that word, solemn." Silvija tapped her chin.

"You're deranged."

The woman looked to the Jotun over twice her size. Her dingy orbs glossed in the sunlight while an appreciative smile erupted on her cheeks. Her petite palm pressed into her heart.

"Thank you. That means so much to me."

Silvija hauled herself to the second stake.

"You know, I feel like a Chihuahua, an adorable type of Midgardian pet. Do you know why?"

The small woman waited for an answer. Nixia was speechless. What was the point of saying anything? She was going to die and she was unimportant. Her eyes squeezed shut, but her lips were another story.

"Why must I burn for the crime of debts?" She croaked.

_It's something_, Silvija noted.

"Chihuahuas are the smallest yet the most vicious breed of canines. The race of Jotuns are the canines...and I am its fearsome chihuahua. That's what I was looking for, dearie." Being tiny, Silvija patted the prisoner's torso. "Every offense against me is punished severely. I don't care about debts or lies or assassination attempts. Really. I deal with those who go against me in general. My dealings are always extreme to send out a message that I am _not_ to be fucked with. 'Kay?"

_I _really _shouldn't have borrowed money_, Nixia mentally struck her head.

"You're...a Jotun?"

"Of course I am! Why would you think-...ohhhhh." Hammer-Frost nodded her head slowly. "Always too quick to judge, eh? I'm gonna ask another question; you and queenie better answer."

Various other prisoners were experiencing their cruel deaths. One was being stretched until they broke apart, rebels were using them as swords against each other, some were beating into pieces and others strangled and revived, forced to endure this for moments. Nixia and Leidi stole a few glances. They were certainly the lucky ones. For some odd reason, this insane woman was sparing them such torture.

_Guess her insanity's acting out..._

"Why am I the head honcho, being _this_," Silvija gestured to her body, "kind of Jotun?"

"A Jotun affected by dwarfism, m'lady." Leidi piped up.

"Beautiful deduction, Sherlock..."

Their voices were mute as the wails of countless Jotun commenced. Lady Hammer-Frost was growing tired of all the waiting and the moaning. She wanted flesh to be charred and screams to mix with flame, yet she enjoyed toying with her prey; fuels what's left of her sanity.

"Because I'm powerful _and_ educated unlike these brutes, you ninnys!" Silvija touched Nixia's torso once more but with pain prickling both skins. "I may be one of the _disfigured_ dwarf Jotun, but I'm certainly the greatest besides..erm..."

The woman desperately tried to remember. She even resorted to slapping her skull; obviously that didn't do well. Defeated, Silvija grumbled her last words to the peasant and the queensguard.

"I can't remember the name, the one my closest friend adores like a raging Midgardian fangirl...Oh well. Burn the bitches!"

The dwarf Jotun left these two damned souls to their fates. Her cloaked backside never faced Nixia nor Leidi. Only her porcelain cheeks bunched up in sincere delight, truly barbarous with satisfaction. Pathetic sobs were suppressed by the muscles in Nixia's wide neck. Leidi wore a proud expression. It made Silvija's brain Jotun's anarchists carelessly washed the last surviving prisoners in starter fluids.

"You will burn, Hammer-Frost, just as I will!" Leidi called out to Silvija one last time.

"The difference is that you will be in Helheim while I party in Valhalla. Yes, I will burn, but in an honorable battle. You're just some lowly guard who needs to work on his stealth skills."

The man's face lit up in rage before the flames even ignited.

"You are a Monster, just as I! We will rot with Hel, you lunatic!"

Orange licked the blue flesh of both Jotuns.

"Helheim belongs to all the inferior. Valhalla belongs to every honorable warrior. Rot in Hell, poor kindred of mine."

Infernos consumed both man and woman. Their tender flesh scalded under the extreme heat followed by a period of dreadful roaring. Silvija left her native realm for one of answers.

_Could it be...? No, of course not. Perhaps...? What am I, a Midgardian?! _

Bloodcurdling shrieks made the rebels uneasy, yet their leader was dazed.

_No...no...no...no...hmm..._

Her orbs were set on the smoking stakes but her mind was elsewhere.

_By the realm, why can't I-?!_

"I'll never remember his name..." Silvija growled.

Splitting wood cracked in the sunlight and the screams came only from the raging flames.

"Oh, Fjora would _love_ this."

"Oy! Boss!"

The tiny woman whipped around to see one follower point to the burnings.

"It's not nice to point!" Silvija humored herself, eying the burnt corpses. Purgatory embodied ravenous flames and devoured ice. It craved the soul, its obvious influence left on the destroyed flesh. Something...else was there. The power of the flame was the bearer of troubling mysteries like Yggdrasil but gold radiated. More fire consumed until the remains of the peasant Nixia and the queensguard Leidi crumbled.

_Thud!_

Ashen skin and bone collapsed into a dusty heap; an object of much weight joined these airy remains, sending the debris floating in the smoky sky. A beacon of light-a box-glowed far more beautiful than the flames. Only a fool would not identify this with the Gods, particularly Asgard.

"The queensguard smuggled an Asgardian artifact?" One rebel questioned this strange occurance.

"Of course! Farbauti's pro-alliance!" Another yelled.

Silvija shook her twisted locks.

_Powerful_ and_ educated..._

"Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge, boys."Graceful words flicked off her tongue.

Her soles brought Hammer-Frost to this grey sight. A box. Why on Jotunheim would there be a box? Especially in the body of a queensguard. The dwarf Jotun's body folded to the stained snow and collected the grand piece.

"So light..." She mumbled.

Silvija's neurotic mind was put at ease when she felt the gilded box. Everything Asgardian was filled with their magicks, hence the gold. The energy soothed the broken soul. She was sane. For now. The lid creaked when the woman pushed it up. More golden rays spilled out like a godly river, and what was inside sent Silvija Hammer-Frost back to her _in_sane self.

"There is no such this as accident; it is fate misnamed..."


End file.
